If I talk about my date you're going to think I'm lying, or making it up. It was that fantastic. I wasn't dreaming. It really happened.
It's the kind of date you see in movies - fun, full of laughter and warm fuzzies, a wholly unnecessary sappy love song playlist not-so-discreetly playing in the background at the restaurant - when the table seems to shrink and it all feels very intimate.
And then the setting moves and I love being in the car with Prince because we sing and we talk and we're so close and I can't help but touch, constantly, compulsively, because touching is so rare across the distances and in public places and in not-friendly-to-gay areas and the car feels safe and warm and comfortable and I want to touch and be touched.
But then it has to be a movie because I've never seen the sun set over the ocean like that, never seen someone smile at me with heaven in the eyes, and I feel so amazed, bewildered, content, and I don't even want to run off for sex because I just want to stand here, forever, drinking in the sunlight with our arms brushing, laughing at the little girls next to us and all their questions and comments.
I could have sat forever and watched as the city flickered to life at our feet, almost as the Egyptian Pharaohs must have done thousands of years ago from their golden thrones and their city blazed to life in the darkness. I felt like royalty from my stone seat, hand in hand, the world laid out before us, the stars shining overhead, the moon casting a silver blessing over us, so bright, so clear.
And it's laughter, laughter, between all the other moments and places and quiet and feelings, there's this laughter. When Prince laughs it's the most wonderful sound in all the world - the sound I want to hear every moment of every day. I want to be the cause, I want to hear when others inspire it. I want Prince to laugh all day long and I want to be there for every moment and open myself up and fill myself with golden laughter, because just maybe there is real magic and this laughter is it.
Maybe I'm just an idiot :)
I don't have a five year plan and I don't know what I'm doing or where this is going. But I know I never want to hang up. I hate going to work and sleeping alone, and I get really nervous and pack two weeks of clothes for a three day trip. I know that I'm flawed, so flawed, and I want nothing more than to be better - than to be the best - than to be deserving of everything Prince is.
Showing posts with label crush. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crush. Show all posts
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 15, 2013
Dating
This may possibly make you want to throw up, because I'm going to be that girl right now.
If I was exceptionally quiet here, it's because I was on a date. A lovely date. A very lovely date with the person whom I've been crushing on.
Real life gets in the way and you can't stay on a date 24/7, but I'd like to. All day at work yesterday, I was reminded by the small piece of folded paper in my pocket, by the picture on my phone, by the taste of cherry cough drops and chapstick - all tangible evidence that I wasn't dreaming.
It's the smile, the eyes, the hair, the skin, the tattoos, the way the waitress comes up to the table and I blush because I'm pretty sure she can see what we're thinking when we stare at each other like that over our water glasses. It's those stares. It's the collar tugs and the hands in my hair and the sweet, amused glint in the eyes when I just can't stop myself from feeling all that soft skin.
It's the door opening, the effects of two beers, the laughter when I'm awkward and silly, the sleepy smiles, the hot hand on my back through my jacket, the singing and the dancing. It's the protector and protected, it's the talking and the not needing to, it's how everything feels like we've done it already - the easy rhythms and moments that should feel so uncomfortable but don't.
It's in the way I didn't feel self conscious once, about my body or my hair or my makeup. It's in the way I felt proud, in the way I never wanted to let go, in the way I wanted to hold hands and show off the amazing person I was with. It's in the quiet way I wanted to go unnoticed, in our little bubble, invisible and free to make out without my hatred for PDA getting in the way (looking back on it you'd have no idea I hate PDA.) It's in the way we say things and then look to see if we got the reaction we wanted, and if we didn't, we try to fix it. It's in the way we listen.
If I go quiet here, it's because I'm finally speaking out loud.
If I was exceptionally quiet here, it's because I was on a date. A lovely date. A very lovely date with the person whom I've been crushing on.
Real life gets in the way and you can't stay on a date 24/7, but I'd like to. All day at work yesterday, I was reminded by the small piece of folded paper in my pocket, by the picture on my phone, by the taste of cherry cough drops and chapstick - all tangible evidence that I wasn't dreaming.
It's the smile, the eyes, the hair, the skin, the tattoos, the way the waitress comes up to the table and I blush because I'm pretty sure she can see what we're thinking when we stare at each other like that over our water glasses. It's those stares. It's the collar tugs and the hands in my hair and the sweet, amused glint in the eyes when I just can't stop myself from feeling all that soft skin.
It's the door opening, the effects of two beers, the laughter when I'm awkward and silly, the sleepy smiles, the hot hand on my back through my jacket, the singing and the dancing. It's the protector and protected, it's the talking and the not needing to, it's how everything feels like we've done it already - the easy rhythms and moments that should feel so uncomfortable but don't.
It's in the way I didn't feel self conscious once, about my body or my hair or my makeup. It's in the way I felt proud, in the way I never wanted to let go, in the way I wanted to hold hands and show off the amazing person I was with. It's in the quiet way I wanted to go unnoticed, in our little bubble, invisible and free to make out without my hatred for PDA getting in the way (looking back on it you'd have no idea I hate PDA.) It's in the way we say things and then look to see if we got the reaction we wanted, and if we didn't, we try to fix it. It's in the way we listen.
If I go quiet here, it's because I'm finally speaking out loud.
Jan 9, 2013
Crushing
I've never run across this problem before. This problem where I'm talking to someone who knows I blog, who reads my blog, who understands what and who I'm writing about.
Does this take away from my "safe space?" Will this cause me to censor myself? I'm not sure. I've always tried to keep this as a space where I can take off the filter about everything I want or need to write about. I'm still sort of feeling this out and how it's going to work for my blog and the things I write on here. Usually it's all personal, personal, sex, personal and now I need to be considerate. And that's okay :) I'd like to be considerate.
I'm crushing and I'm crushing hard, and I don't think it's something you guys have actively seen me go through. You see the beginnings, perhaps, the flirtations and the putting myself out there, and then of course you've been privy to the aftermath. But this, here, this in-between, this something new but something familiar coiling inside of me is not something you've borne witness to.
I can't sleep. I can't stop smiling. I can't stop checking my phone or hovering my finger over the "call" button even though I know I'll eventually tap the lock button and put it away. There's a nervous feeling fluttering inside me and I feel like an idiot but I also really enjoy it. I am now I'm exactly like all those girls I make fun of. The irony is not lost on me.
Is it always like this?
Does this take away from my "safe space?" Will this cause me to censor myself? I'm not sure. I've always tried to keep this as a space where I can take off the filter about everything I want or need to write about. I'm still sort of feeling this out and how it's going to work for my blog and the things I write on here. Usually it's all personal, personal, sex, personal and now I need to be considerate. And that's okay :) I'd like to be considerate.
I'm crushing and I'm crushing hard, and I don't think it's something you guys have actively seen me go through. You see the beginnings, perhaps, the flirtations and the putting myself out there, and then of course you've been privy to the aftermath. But this, here, this in-between, this something new but something familiar coiling inside of me is not something you've borne witness to.
I can't sleep. I can't stop smiling. I can't stop checking my phone or hovering my finger over the "call" button even though I know I'll eventually tap the lock button and put it away. There's a nervous feeling fluttering inside me and I feel like an idiot but I also really enjoy it. I am now I'm exactly like all those girls I make fun of. The irony is not lost on me.
Is it always like this?
Jan 1, 2013
Gay Talks/Tues Tunes
So, everyone is either listing out 2012 or making out what 2013 is going to be, but I don't want to do that. I can choose a new outlook and attitude at anytime, and a calendar year isn't going to motivate or stop me :P
Lately it's been music, music, music, in my conversations with various people and I love it. I'm getting nostalgic about the mass produced synthetic pop from the 90's that I so dearly miss. Last night I was slipped a TLC line "don't want no scrubs," and I finished the rest of the song in my head.
I remember that song was on a burned cd of mine with some Britney Spears music that never got popular. Actually, I listened to Britney Spears a lot, and as a result, my singing impression of her early years is pretty stellar and hilarious.
I remember my brother buying me a little red MP3 player which required Musicmatch Jukebox (remember that, you guys?) and I played t.A.T.u. constantly. Blame it on my fascination with all things Russian or whatever for having the album in both languages, but I wish someone had noticed that I was a glued to a music video with girls kissing and singing about wanting to be together.
In fact, I wish someone had put together a lot of the pieces and sat me down to talk when I was fourteen. I wish someone had asked me about the way my Snow White barbie made out with all the others and touched their breasts, the half-naked Christina Aguilera posters, the t.A.T.u music videos, the lesbian pornography, the makeshift sex drawer, the things my boyfriends would have to say to me to get me in the right frame of mind to do anything, the way I panted after this sarcastic, bitchy, emo, 50s housewife looking lesbian in high school and called her by a different name just so I knew it was something only I got to call her (and she let me, and she didn't put up with anything, which meant she liked me and that meant the world).
When I look back, it's so obvious, so why didn't I realize it, and why didn't anyone else? I guess it's too late and in the past. I know who I am now, so I shouldn't let it bother me.
Note: All those bad 90s fashions and wet schoolgirl uniforms are still so in. Good choice, ladies. I approve.
Lately it's been music, music, music, in my conversations with various people and I love it. I'm getting nostalgic about the mass produced synthetic pop from the 90's that I so dearly miss. Last night I was slipped a TLC line "don't want no scrubs," and I finished the rest of the song in my head.
I remember that song was on a burned cd of mine with some Britney Spears music that never got popular. Actually, I listened to Britney Spears a lot, and as a result, my singing impression of her early years is pretty stellar and hilarious.
I remember my brother buying me a little red MP3 player which required Musicmatch Jukebox (remember that, you guys?) and I played t.A.T.u. constantly. Blame it on my fascination with all things Russian or whatever for having the album in both languages, but I wish someone had noticed that I was a glued to a music video with girls kissing and singing about wanting to be together.
In fact, I wish someone had put together a lot of the pieces and sat me down to talk when I was fourteen. I wish someone had asked me about the way my Snow White barbie made out with all the others and touched their breasts, the half-naked Christina Aguilera posters, the t.A.T.u music videos, the lesbian pornography, the makeshift sex drawer, the things my boyfriends would have to say to me to get me in the right frame of mind to do anything, the way I panted after this sarcastic, bitchy, emo, 50s housewife looking lesbian in high school and called her by a different name just so I knew it was something only I got to call her (and she let me, and she didn't put up with anything, which meant she liked me and that meant the world).
When I look back, it's so obvious, so why didn't I realize it, and why didn't anyone else? I guess it's too late and in the past. I know who I am now, so I shouldn't let it bother me.
Note: All those bad 90s fashions and wet schoolgirl uniforms are still so in. Good choice, ladies. I approve.
Dec 22, 2012
Updates/Desires
After being *ahem* heckled on twitter about my girl crushes :) I had some startling realizations about myself, my esteem and my love life. Whichever girl I like can be awful, mean as hell, or undeserving (in another's point of view), but I'll think she's wonderful. Is that normal? Isn't that how relationships go? Aren't we all blind to faults?
I mean, I don't like being emotionally abused and I won't put up with it, but there are certain things I get railroaded into. I do end up getting into situations where I'm used physically, but I'll need a therapist to work out that one. Point is, I like when my my girl can get a little mean, because I like a good fight. I like stubbornness and strong convictions because I like confrontation and the explosive force that comes from a passionate argument. I enjoy the cathartic energy of airing grievances and finally getting everything out into the open. If we can't fight, are we really communicating?
There's a certain balance to be achieved in a relationship. Sweet and gentle vs explosive and passionate. I want both sides of this coin. I want the soft mornings and sweet words in bed, I want the hallway fights with slamming cupboards, the frequent shower interruptions to ask a question, the giggles at family parties, the frustration at public events when we want to be alone, and the nights on the couch when I am so mad but then at three in the morning I want nothing more than your arms wrapped around me.
Can I have everything? I don't know. But I want it.
Bonus- here's an excerpt of the latest chapter of my first:girl series AKA coming out story now up on wordpress: Mimosas
The guilt ate at me and the mimosas weren’t helping. I’m home. I sent her. I forgot to check my phone last night. I’m sorry I made you worry. Hope you got some sleep. It was presumptuous, thinking that she had been worried about me, but I typed it anyway, hoping.
I waited, drank another mimosa. Nothing. The tears built up again. I felt like a yo-yo, jerked around one way and then the other. How could she be so loving, so caring, and then so completely heartless? How could she see me aching to offer my soul on a platter to her and wave it away like an undercooked meal?
My housemate knocked on my door after one in the afternoon. “I heard something about you last night,” she started, but I shook my head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” my voice was hoarse from crying.
“So it ended badly. We all knew it would, Tabby. God, can’t you see she was playing you? You can’t trust girls like that. They’re just as bad as guys, pitting girls against each other-” I shook myself out of my stupor.
“Girls like what?” I searched around for the term clumsily given to me in the heat of an argument.
“Butch girls? You’re judging her because of how she looks?” I was in full defense mode. Maybe Gwen had just broken my heart, but she was still everything to me and that meant fighting for her to the ends of the earth.
“No. Well, yes. Maybe. C’mon, Tabby. You know her, you’ve seen her. She’s playing you.”
“Are you saying that all this crap I’ve gone through with you and Charlie and all the others is because Gwen isn’t a nice, normal, Stepford-wife girl? That if she had long hair and a polite smile and drank cosmos instead of beer and whiskey, and didn’t curse, and wore high heels instead of converse, and dresses instead of mismatched plaids-” I choked, those were all things I loved about her. I loved her masculinity. I loved her rough edges, the way she held her beer. I loved the quirky smile and the crooked teeth and the no makeup and the tattoos and all those gorgeous freckles.
“That everyone would have been fine?” I finished harshly.
I mean, I don't like being emotionally abused and I won't put up with it, but there are certain things I get railroaded into. I do end up getting into situations where I'm used physically, but I'll need a therapist to work out that one. Point is, I like when my my girl can get a little mean, because I like a good fight. I like stubbornness and strong convictions because I like confrontation and the explosive force that comes from a passionate argument. I enjoy the cathartic energy of airing grievances and finally getting everything out into the open. If we can't fight, are we really communicating?
There's a certain balance to be achieved in a relationship. Sweet and gentle vs explosive and passionate. I want both sides of this coin. I want the soft mornings and sweet words in bed, I want the hallway fights with slamming cupboards, the frequent shower interruptions to ask a question, the giggles at family parties, the frustration at public events when we want to be alone, and the nights on the couch when I am so mad but then at three in the morning I want nothing more than your arms wrapped around me.
Can I have everything? I don't know. But I want it.
Bonus- here's an excerpt of the latest chapter of my first:girl series AKA coming out story now up on wordpress: Mimosas
The guilt ate at me and the mimosas weren’t helping. I’m home. I sent her. I forgot to check my phone last night. I’m sorry I made you worry. Hope you got some sleep. It was presumptuous, thinking that she had been worried about me, but I typed it anyway, hoping.
I waited, drank another mimosa. Nothing. The tears built up again. I felt like a yo-yo, jerked around one way and then the other. How could she be so loving, so caring, and then so completely heartless? How could she see me aching to offer my soul on a platter to her and wave it away like an undercooked meal?
My housemate knocked on my door after one in the afternoon. “I heard something about you last night,” she started, but I shook my head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” my voice was hoarse from crying.
“So it ended badly. We all knew it would, Tabby. God, can’t you see she was playing you? You can’t trust girls like that. They’re just as bad as guys, pitting girls against each other-” I shook myself out of my stupor.
“Girls like what?” I searched around for the term clumsily given to me in the heat of an argument.
“Butch girls? You’re judging her because of how she looks?” I was in full defense mode. Maybe Gwen had just broken my heart, but she was still everything to me and that meant fighting for her to the ends of the earth.
“No. Well, yes. Maybe. C’mon, Tabby. You know her, you’ve seen her. She’s playing you.”
“Are you saying that all this crap I’ve gone through with you and Charlie and all the others is because Gwen isn’t a nice, normal, Stepford-wife girl? That if she had long hair and a polite smile and drank cosmos instead of beer and whiskey, and didn’t curse, and wore high heels instead of converse, and dresses instead of mismatched plaids-” I choked, those were all things I loved about her. I loved her masculinity. I loved her rough edges, the way she held her beer. I loved the quirky smile and the crooked teeth and the no makeup and the tattoos and all those gorgeous freckles.
“That everyone would have been fine?” I finished harshly.
Dec 19, 2012
Crushing/Lesbissues
Crushing is hard for everybody, but I think crushing is especially hard for lesbians. I see this on Sasha's site over at CCL all the time, where girls are constantly asking for advice on how they know if another girl likes them back. Girls are damn flirty creatures. Myself included. I love to flirt. I flirt with girls, I flirt with boys, I flirt with babies and bunnies and unicorns and Albus Dumbledore. Okay? I'm a flirt.
But when it comes to crushing on someone? It's so hard. I practically clam up. My physical and mental ability to flirt dies and leaves me alone muttering something unintelligible about tamales, and I've got nothing intelligent or witty. I understand that the only way to figure out if a girl is a lesbian/interested in you is just to ask, but I'm afraid ofthe asking the silence that follows.
You know the one I mean - the two hours of your day that used to be filled with talking to her, that are now empty. The endless minutes, the sparks of thought and conversation that you want to share with that one person who you know will get it - but wait, it's radio silence from her end. Because those words, "I like you," "I'm attracted to you," "I'm crushing on you," "my feelings for you extend beyond a platonic friendship," all seem to spell sudden death for my friendships with girls. And rather than push for a relationship, I'd rather at least have someone to talk to.
Not that it ends that way every time. If I have a pretty clear signal I'll go for it, but most of the time I can't be the person who says it first. Because I'll be honest: I'm afraid I'm going to be left alone, pining, with an outstretched hand and an empty text message inbox, and I know I'm not the only one. So when there's two of us who feel this way about each other, who the hell plucks up the courage to make the first move, or are we just tunnel-o-love boats that pass in the night?
Note: lesbissues (lez-bee-issues) is my new favorite term. Put that right at the top with mo' homo.
But when it comes to crushing on someone? It's so hard. I practically clam up. My physical and mental ability to flirt dies and leaves me alone muttering something unintelligible about tamales, and I've got nothing intelligent or witty. I understand that the only way to figure out if a girl is a lesbian/interested in you is just to ask, but I'm afraid of
You know the one I mean - the two hours of your day that used to be filled with talking to her, that are now empty. The endless minutes, the sparks of thought and conversation that you want to share with that one person who you know will get it - but wait, it's radio silence from her end. Because those words, "I like you," "I'm attracted to you," "I'm crushing on you," "my feelings for you extend beyond a platonic friendship," all seem to spell sudden death for my friendships with girls. And rather than push for a relationship, I'd rather at least have someone to talk to.
Not that it ends that way every time. If I have a pretty clear signal I'll go for it, but most of the time I can't be the person who says it first. Because I'll be honest: I'm afraid I'm going to be left alone, pining, with an outstretched hand and an empty text message inbox, and I know I'm not the only one. So when there's two of us who feel this way about each other, who the hell plucks up the courage to make the first move, or are we just tunnel-o-love boats that pass in the night?
Note: lesbissues (lez-bee-issues) is my new favorite term. Put that right at the top with mo' homo.
Dec 16, 2012
Elise
I want to talk about last night's dream because it was lovely, hot, heart-wrenching, and weird. It's been a while since we've talked about dreams, so: I was living in this underground community which was divided into two factions of unrest, but not really fighting. I had been dating, and was totally in love with, this wonderful girl named Elise, and we went on a date to a place that was filled with giant gumball looking machines, but I think they were arcade games or slot machines. It was the go-to place in our community. Afterward, she took me back to meet her parents. All throughout dinner, these huge spider things kept crawling toward my foot and were scaring me but Elise's father told me to lift my foot up and they would scuttle away, so I held my foot aloft and noticed there was a thick web attached to my shoe, but when it was held up they stayed away. I put my foot back down for a moment, and this giant (I'm talking foot-long) spider bit me.
Elise started freaking out and so did I because the spider had metal jaws and it hurt. Her dad started laughing about how I would pivot my whole world around Elise and it would be the thing that destroyed my faction. I realized he was part of the rebellion and the spider was a man-made metallic instrument, perhaps poisonous or explosive, but definitely bad. Elise started to fight, reaching for me, screaming at her father that she loved me and didn't want to spend her life apart from me. He held her back and threw me into another room.
There was an explosion. I woke up on the surface with hundreds of people around me, digging for Elise and the "lost family" that had been buried under some sort of freak accident or earthquake. I pounded on the ground, screaming for Elise, crying. Someone rubbed my back and I looked up to see Elise, smiling at me. She pulled me into a hug and I burrowed into her warmth.
"I don't want this to separate us," she told me. "I didn't know what he was going to do. I'm so sorry. I love you, I really, really love you," she pleaded, brushing away my tears. I nodded, heart in my throat, only glad she was alive. I swept her hair off her forehead and tried to memorize her face, still so worried she'd disappear.
"The machines!" someone cried in the distance. "All the buttons are loose and it's a code violation! They're going to take them all down!"
"Everyone, go! Turn them clockwise- to the right! We can fix it!" I shouted out directions. I knew Elise would be with me on this. Our reunion could come after. The machines were important to the happiness of our community, and they were special to us as well. I lost sight of her as we all ran amongst the machines, tightening, fixing. After a while the inspectors backed down. Everyone made their way back to the digging site, but I couldn't find Elise.
"We haven't brought anyone up yet," the foreman told me when I questioned him about her. "Haven't even broken through."
Had she come out through a secret tunnel? Had I been dreaming? Had anyone else seen her?
Frantically, I began to dig.
Oct 24, 2012
Day 2 Redux Dream Girl
30 Day letter Challenge Redux
Day 2 — Your Crush
Ohhh man. I have so many kinds of crushes. How about a little something different?
I've never been a dreaming kind of girl. My sleeping history has been riddled with mostly nightmares, not dreams, so when I met you, dear friend, what a surprise that my nightmares paused. My normal ratio is something like 3:1 in favor of nightmares, but for weeks it seems to have reversed.
Even in my happy dreams, I've never dreamed of a relationship with someone in future tense. I've never had a sleeping dream where my partner and I were happily together ten years down the road. For someone who has feared commitment most of my life, I am now dreaming of you in the most interesting of ways - introducing you to friends as my wife, watching as you stand up for me against an old adversary. These dreams are not sexual in nature but imply a deeper bond, a trusting, warm link that makes me feel safe and comforted - things which are hard for me to feel during my waking hours.
The fact that I barely know you makes this even more interesting. I hardly know anything about you, and yet, in my dream you become my everything: my fierce guardian and protector, my giggling companion, the person smiling and pushing hair out of my face as we linger in the quiet kitchen of a social gathering.
Who are you, and why do you make me feel so safe? Is it a psychology thing? Have I become more accepting of love and kindness, more willing to lean on someone else, and this is being personified through you?
Now when I wake I still feel distress, but only because I wish I could fall back into slumber with you.
-
Day 2 — Your Crush
Ohhh man. I have so many kinds of crushes. How about a little something different?
I've never been a dreaming kind of girl. My sleeping history has been riddled with mostly nightmares, not dreams, so when I met you, dear friend, what a surprise that my nightmares paused. My normal ratio is something like 3:1 in favor of nightmares, but for weeks it seems to have reversed.
Even in my happy dreams, I've never dreamed of a relationship with someone in future tense. I've never had a sleeping dream where my partner and I were happily together ten years down the road. For someone who has feared commitment most of my life, I am now dreaming of you in the most interesting of ways - introducing you to friends as my wife, watching as you stand up for me against an old adversary. These dreams are not sexual in nature but imply a deeper bond, a trusting, warm link that makes me feel safe and comforted - things which are hard for me to feel during my waking hours.
The fact that I barely know you makes this even more interesting. I hardly know anything about you, and yet, in my dream you become my everything: my fierce guardian and protector, my giggling companion, the person smiling and pushing hair out of my face as we linger in the quiet kitchen of a social gathering.
Who are you, and why do you make me feel so safe? Is it a psychology thing? Have I become more accepting of love and kindness, more willing to lean on someone else, and this is being personified through you?
Now when I wake I still feel distress, but only because I wish I could fall back into slumber with you.
-
Oct 28, 2010
Day 9: Someone I wish I could meet
There are so many people I wish I could meet, like Obama, George W., Angelina Jolie, Nicolas Cage, Tom Hanks, my aunt Kathy, the Queen of England, my old penpal from Egypt, countless scholars and authors whose work I admire and minds I wish to probe. Instead, I want to act like a thirteen year old girl and write to the person who I feel has had most influence over my life in the last two years.
Dear Sara Quin (and, yes, you are sort of included in here as well, Tegan),
There are so many things I want to ask you, tell you. I wouldn't say I am a crazy, I wouldn't say I am obsessed or think we are soul mates, and in full disclosure, despite all of the shows I have gone to, I have never tried to meet you for fear I won't like you and it will screw up my love for your music. Your music is the only thing that got me through my first real heartbreak, through the first stages of exploring my sexuality, through the perilous waters of flirting and first dates. I can't thank you enough for writing from your soul in such a way that it feels as if you were taking words from my own and giving them life.
You never leave anything in the dark. As a fan of yours, I know the basics of who you have dated and who you haven't, how you feel about yourself, your family, being single, being 30. Your self depricating humor is endearing, your accent charming, the way you get pissed off with Tegan onstage is amusing and all too reminiscent of my relationships with my siblings. It feels as if every move you make is real, and for that I admire you much more than all these other fake artists with autotuners and stylists.
You are well educated, always thinking, reading, writing. Your taste in books is incredible, your arguments about political issues well thought out. But most of all, you feel. You feel so deeply, are so sensitive, that a look, a phrase can cut you to the core. I have a thick skin; I have dragon scales protecting my heart, and those scales have numbed me. Listening to your music helps me feel all the things I have blocked out. Maybe it makes happy, sad, sick, heartbroken, or miserable, but I am feeling. For a moment I am no longer numb, but a breathing, feeling human being.
For all the times I can't cry when I am supposed to, I know I can listen to your words, your fingers, and experience what it is like to have life inside of me.
Thanks, Sara,
-Tabby
Dear Sara Quin (and, yes, you are sort of included in here as well, Tegan),
There are so many things I want to ask you, tell you. I wouldn't say I am a crazy, I wouldn't say I am obsessed or think we are soul mates, and in full disclosure, despite all of the shows I have gone to, I have never tried to meet you for fear I won't like you and it will screw up my love for your music. Your music is the only thing that got me through my first real heartbreak, through the first stages of exploring my sexuality, through the perilous waters of flirting and first dates. I can't thank you enough for writing from your soul in such a way that it feels as if you were taking words from my own and giving them life.
You never leave anything in the dark. As a fan of yours, I know the basics of who you have dated and who you haven't, how you feel about yourself, your family, being single, being 30. Your self depricating humor is endearing, your accent charming, the way you get pissed off with Tegan onstage is amusing and all too reminiscent of my relationships with my siblings. It feels as if every move you make is real, and for that I admire you much more than all these other fake artists with autotuners and stylists.
You are well educated, always thinking, reading, writing. Your taste in books is incredible, your arguments about political issues well thought out. But most of all, you feel. You feel so deeply, are so sensitive, that a look, a phrase can cut you to the core. I have a thick skin; I have dragon scales protecting my heart, and those scales have numbed me. Listening to your music helps me feel all the things I have blocked out. Maybe it makes happy, sad, sick, heartbroken, or miserable, but I am feeling. For a moment I am no longer numb, but a breathing, feeling human being.
For all the times I can't cry when I am supposed to, I know I can listen to your words, your fingers, and experience what it is like to have life inside of me.
Thanks, Sara,
-Tabby
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